


Redemption

by dimpleboyjoonie



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Healing, Hurt, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, PTSD, Platonic Relationships, Tags will be updated with each chapter if needed, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimpleboyjoonie/pseuds/dimpleboyjoonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story takes place after the events of Fury Road, with some major changes to canon because I couldn't let some characters stay dead. </p><p>"At least that way we might be able to... together... come across some kind of redemption."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Die soft

"Yer gonna die soft, traitorous filth." Slit taunted him, dangling the canteen filled with precious Aqua-Cola just out of Nux's reach. 

Nux whimpered when he tried to move himself towards Slit, his left leg cruelly pinned underneath the wreckage of what had once been the War Rig. He should be dead. He should be riding up to the gates of Valhalla now, feasting and walking side by side with the greatest heroes of all time. But instead his mouth was full of sand and his leg was stuck, and Slit was laughing at him. He felt like crying when he realised that even if he did somehow manage to get free from the wreckage, he'd probably never walk again. 

"I can't move!" He snarled at the older War Boy. 

"Well, yer just gonna have to gnaw that leg off! Or are you gonna die soft, soft like a little War Pup?"

Nux yelled and wildly grabbed for Slit's legs but the War Boy vanished before he could reach him.

"Of course he's gone, Nux, he's dead." Nux whispered quietly to himself. 

He knew it was Slit's voice, shouting out for Valhalla with his last breath. He'd be able to recognise that voice from a mile away. And he didn't witness him. The pain that suddenly flared up in Nux's chest was a million times worse than the pain he felt from his mangled leg. It was like someone had pierced his heart with a Thunderstick, repeatedly pulling it back out before plunging it back in over and over again. _Slit._

Nux knew about the myths. He'd heard the other Blackthumbs and Revheads whispering about it amongst themselves while he worked in the Garages, how War Boys who died and weren't witnessed were left to wander the Wastelands forever. They'd called them ghosts. Nux involuntarily shivered even though the scorching sun was starting to blister his unprotected skin. Slit was a ghost now. And he was haunting Nux. 

Slit had been Nux's only friend. The other War Boys didn't want anything to do with him, after all, he came from the Wretched. And he'd been the smallest Pup, an easy target for fists and theft. Nux finds himself remembering the day he first met Slit, the memory of it putting a warm glow in his chest and blocking out the pain. It had been a bad day. Some other Pups wanted to take away his first set of tools, given to him by an impossibly older War Boy who saw some potential in him. He'd fought well until one Pup pulled out a knife and slashed at his face, carving a scar right across his nose and over his cheek. That was when Slit had found him, lying on the floor surrounded by his own blood and tears. Slit dragged him over to Organic's and traded some tubing to get Nux stitched up. After that, he stole back Nux's tools. The two of them had been inseparable since then. 

He hadn't been the easiest person to be friends with. In fact, most of the time Slit was kamikrazie, causing fights and dragging Nux down with him. They'd made something of a name for themselves with all the trouble they had caused, until they'd pushed one War Boy over the edge with their games. Then Nux was the one dragging an unconscious Slit to Organic's, trading almost everything he'd owned to get his only friend patched up. He didn't leave Slit's side until he'd fully recovered, partly because he didn't have anywhere else to go and because Organic told him that there was a chance Slit wouldn't make it. If that happened, Nux needed to be there. He needed to witness him. 

_And you didn't witness him, did you?_

The Badlands were too quiet for Nux. He always needed to be surrounded by noise, he didn't care what it was just as long as something filled the silence. The Garages were naturally never quiet, the sounds of engines being coaxed back to life and the metallic clanging of repairs being done vibrated throughout the rooms and down into the sleeping quarters. At night the noises of the Garages were drowned out by the loud humming of the Wretched below the towers of the Citadel. The day was too hot for them to come out, unless it was an Aqua-Cola Day, so the large crowds below were like the little nocturnal creatures the older War Boys told stories about to the Pups, crawling out from holes in the ground each night. Nux couldn't remember much from his time amongst the Wretched. He could remember the leathery texture of their human-hide tent, could remember the days when Aqua-Cola flowed down from the central tower and could remember clinging onto the side of the lift until they let him up. But he couldn't remember his parents faces. 

"Stay still. Don't move a single muscle. They're coming." Slit appeared in front of him again, a finger placed in front of his bloodied lips to tell Nux to keep quiet. 

Nux heard the distant sound of rumbling bike engines and as they got closer the ground beneath him started to tremble. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to stay completely still. 

"Rock Riders. Come to scavenge for supplies. Yer better pray to V8 that they don't fancy takin' yer carcass with 'em, Nux." Slit whispered. 

The engines died down with a soft splutter and Nux listened out for the sounds of the Rock Riders heading his way. He heard them climbing amongst the wreckage, siphoning guzzoline and hammering off spare parts like dingos picking a dead body clean. When he heard two of them walking towards him he held his breath, hoping that he looked dead enough for them to leave him alone. 

"Look, a dead War Boy. Could take it with us, trade it with the Buzzards?" The first Rock Rider to speak knelt down beside him, grabbing his arm and tugging on it. 

"Don't bother, there's not enough meat on this one. Not worth the energy or time spent diggin' it out. There'll be others." 

The Rock Rider holding his arm grunted and let it fall back across Nux's chest. He didn't know how much longer he could last without getting any air into his lungs. His brain started to ache, his throat burned and he could feel the panic sweeping through his veins. When the Rock Riders eventually walked off to look for another carcass relief poured over him like Aqua-Cola tumbling over the rocks. _A waterfall._ That's what Morsov had called it, and Slit had simply laughed, whispering to Nux that Morsov was letting the gas fumes get to his head if he believed that Aqua-Cola could flow by itself without the Immortan's help. 

The Immortan was dead. Nux had seen it with his own eyes, seen Furiosa rip his face off. He lied. They all lied. Joe wasn't immortal, he'd probably never grabbed the sun either. They were just like the stories told to the smallest of Pups before they went to sleep, and none of them were true. Tears sprung from the corners of his eyes and trailed down his face like a leaking radiator hose, and Nux didn't even have the energy left to raise a hand to wipe them away. 

"Won't be long now. Then you'll be a ghost, like me." Slit hovered above him like a circling crow, lips pulled back in a wide smile to reveal a mouth filled with blood.


	2. I'm not running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for a lot of PTSD in this chapter**

_Hello?_

_Where are you, Max?_

_Help us Max!_

_You promised to help us!_

Max felt himself being yanked out of sleep, senses heightened, heart beating way too fast in his chest. He picked up his shot gun on instinct and waved it around, finger ready on the trigger, scanning the horizon ahead of him for any threats. The half-moon overhead filtered down pale light, allowing him to see through the darkness. Max looked around for the Buzzard's trademark spiky cars or the distant rumbling of bike engines, panic building in the pit of his stomach. He let out a sharp cry when Glory flashed in front of him, her face turning into a skull and her eyes burning bright with rage. 

_Help us! Help us!_

_You let us die Max!_

The voices grew louder around him, each one causing his body to jolt in pain. He turned around to make sure no one living was there, pointing the gun towards the ghosts that only he could see. Normally he could block them out, focusing on the sand underneath his boots and sounds of lizards crawling across rock, but this time he couldn't push his ghosts away. 

_Stop running Max!_

He drew in shaky breaths and tried to ignore them, tried to ignore all of the voices of those he could not protect. He'd been foolish to believe that helping Furiosa would make up for what he did to the others. He'd been a fool to ever let that thought cross his mind. He needed to keep moving, needed to put as much distance between himself and the Citadel as possible. Max bundled up his few possessions; his jacket, a blanket, a canteen and a pack filled with dried food from the Citadel. Gifts. He didn't deserve them.

_Who killed the world, Max?_

Max froze in place, his trail of thought lost when he heard her voice. The voice belonged to the pregnant wife who'd fallen under the wheels, he was sure of it. The other wives had called her Angharad. The Immortan's favourite. The Splendid. She went under the wheels. A memory flashed in his brain for just a second, but it was enough to cause him to collapse to the ground in shock. Glory. Going under the wheels, just like Angharad had done. He couldn't save either of them. He let them die. 

The shame crashed over his body then, causing him to shake violently. His heart pounded in his chest, louder than the clanking of Furiosa's wrench on the side of the War Rig had been and the nausea kicks in. Beads of sweat mix with the tears dripping down his face, dropping to the sand beneath him and being instantly absorbed by the sour earth. He knew he had to stop, he didn't have the water to waste on tears, but pulling himself back together after an attack took time. 

_You don't have time, Max! He doesn't have time!_

"Who?" Max forced the word past his lips, flinching at the unrecognisable sound of his own voice. 

_He's running out of time! Help him Max!_

Max used the last of his strength to push himself off of the ground, the brace on his leg almost snapping with the effort. Furiosa had offered to look at it for him before he left, but naturally he'd said no. The urge to run away was too great, too tempting. He needed to be out on the road. His only instinct was to survive, and someone like that just wasn't made for sticking around in one place for too long. He was a nomad, all he knew was that he had to keep moving. But now Max wishes he'd at least taken up on Furiosa's offer. His leg was a weakness, and out here weaknesses get you killed. 

Once he was up and sure he wasn't going to fall back to the ground, Max threw his small collection of belongings onto the backseat of his new car; a matte black '73 Ford Cortina with a twin turbo V8 engine. It was half complete when the War started, the handmade gearbox still in pieces, left behind by a War Boy who would never return to her. She was battered and missing a door, but Max had almost laughed when Furiosa presented the car to him. It was a dream, a lost relic from the Before times, and although it wasn't his Interceptor Max felt a little bit more whole once he'd been given a new car. 

Max slid into the driver's seat, the smell of oil and feel of the metal beneath his hands calming him. He only felt calm behind the steering wheel of a car. He turned the ignition and revved the engine, almost letting out a small smile as the engine roared its way into life. He didn't have to tell himself to put the car into gear. He didn't even remember slamming his foot down onto the accelerator. Driving came to him as naturally as walking did, and he was quickly speeding off, the tires kicking up the sand behind him and destroying all of the evidence left behind from his attack. He hoped he'd be leaving his ghosts behind too, but hope was a mistake. He had to live with his ghosts, that was just the world now. 

_Head East. And don't run away._

He didn't hold back his smile this time, "Mmm. I'm not running, not anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max's new car is very loosely inspired by my dad's Ford Cortina (it's a pretty hideous shade of lime green, but it's an awesome car). It's currently rusting away in a garage, but I hope to fix it up one day to honour my dad's memory if I ever get the time and money to do so.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and the next chapter is coming very soon because I'm putting off another assignment!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This is my first Mad Max fic. If you spot any errors please point them out, all comments are welcome :)


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